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[h1]Gwyn Therwyn[/h1][/centre]
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On the first day of training, a big hairy drill sergeant with a chest like a bear pins every recruit to the wall and warns them to [u]never [/u]enter an unsecured building in the middle of a firefight. He says this in a most insistent manner. Every day, he repeats this maxim until it is burned into every recruit's brain. Nonetheless, that's what Gwyn had been ordered to do, and given the circumstances he wasn't about to stand about and argue.

Lead tore up the cobbles around Gwyn and he had to make an executive decision, fast. Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to. Isaac lead the charge into a nearby building, and it was up to Gwyn to have everyone follow.
"Into the building, let's move! Don't hang about!" He cried, shortly before making a mad dash for the area in question. The ground before him sparked, a deadly dance that didn't take kindly to being interrupted. Gwyn thanked whatever God would listen that he was able to bust through the door before being shot up.

"Alright, sound off. Who's still alive?"

He joked, but now they were, as it was medically know, up shit creek without a paddle. They couldn't take point without that damned armoured car spraying them with lead, and they didn't have the numbers to repel a frontal assault from the Imperials. He could plink away at the enemy numbers with his shitty carbine, but he wasn't going to achieve as much as Britta and Isaac. Right now, he was dead weight.